


5 & 1:  Sam's F-ing Lips

by olndina



Series: MFGD Lips [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Premature Ejaculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olndina/pseuds/olndina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.  Some angst and romance... Tastes good... Like chocolate from you-know-whose lips. Hint: They aren't Voldemort's. Spoilers for S2, including the finale. Senior year.  Written and published way the hell before I saw S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 & 1:  Sam's F-ing Lips

**Author's Note:**

> This was previously published on ff, but I was naughty and the story was pulled.
> 
> Contains references to Zizes's love of Cadbury Eggs, Berry's granny panties, Schue's unhealthy obsession with concern for the glee clubbers, Finn's impeccable timing, Berry's pants suits, Ben Israel's unhealthy need for gossip, Season 2 Finale surprise!Relationship, Santana's hot lesbianism, Artie's wheelchair and/or his freakish upper body strength, Finn's impeccable timing (now with concussion!), Beiste's Beisteliness, Azimio's fat ass, Brittany's habit of going bra-less, Tina's helpful chapstick-lending tendencies, a plucky Blow Pop, Mike Chang and Matt Rutherford in a totally bromantic dance-off, Puck's sister's love of The Princess Diaries, and Puck's mom's hearing things that go bump in the night.
> 
> There are relatively few things I own in this world… Glee is not one of them.  
> I do, however, hold a firm grasp of English Grammar, Usage, and Mechanics, as well as a fertile and dirty imagination. Please enjoy.

The First Time—Glee

 

Now, maybe Puck should have realized that something was up with his sexuality, you know, when he fucked his best friend’s girlfriend.  And, maybe he has been thinking about balls in his mouth for a while now.  Let’s face it: Puck’s living on just-this-side of oblivious about his capital G gayness.  But, whatever.  He’s not gay.  He’s just not.

So, yeah, it’s senior year, and he’s single.  Zizes dumped his ass for the local sales rep for Cadbury Eggs, and Puck is kicking himself for letting it slip that that’s how he got her the little fuckers in the first place. 

He’s in glee, and so are Sam’s kissable… No, they are _not_ fucking kissable. 

He’s in glee and so are Sam’s huge motherfucking goddamn lips.  And, Sam’s fucking singing “Please Please Me” and Puck’s desperately trying to tell himself that his cock is hard because Rachel’s skirt rode up her ass and he got a flash of her granny panties, never mind the fact that that shit happened in second period.  Yesterday. 

“ ‘Please please me, whoa yeah, like I please you.’”

Oh, Jesus, he needs to get the fuck out of this choir room because Sam keeps licking those motherfucking goddamn lips every five seconds and -

_Think of the mailman.  Think of Finn’s goddamned mailman!_

Puck’s just about to massacre his jacket, which he had nonchalantly (read: was completely obvious about and fooled not a single person when he did so) put in his lap.  He’s pretty fucking sure that the leather of the sleeves are totally wrinkled for fucking life, or will be soon if Schue doesn’t dismiss them. 

_And, oh, thank you Buddha, Allah, and Satan._

“All right, guys, give it up for Sam!”  Mr. Schuester strolls to the front of the room, leading most of them in a round of applause, but not Puck because he’s already at that fucking door.  The clapping stops.  “Puck, I haven’t dismissed you yet.”

Puck turns.  “Uh, I gotta take a dump.”

“Gross, Puckerman, could you possibly be more - ”

“Shut up, Hummel. I didn’t ask your permission.”  He glares at Kurt, but honestly, his heart’s not in it and he probably couldn’t even intimidate a bouquet of fucking petunias right now.  “Mr. Schue, I really gotta go.”

“Are you sick?”

Puck resists rolling his eyes, because Schuester has to be _that_ teacher who fucking cares about his students.“No, I just had burritos for lunch and I gotta drop this deuce before football practice.  And - ” Really, he’s run out of excuses, so he opts for bouncing up and down on his heels, like he’ll take a crap right the fuck there in the doorway if he stops moving for even a second.  “Please, Mr. Schue, I gotta go.”

Schue waves his hand and Puck runs flat-out to the nearest boys’ bathroom, slams the stall door shut, and has his pants down to his ankles—his ass on the toilet seat—before he remembers that he doesn’t really have to take a shit and that he’s actually really, really turned on because of Sam’s motherfucking goddamn lips.  Wait.  No, not Sam’s fuck-me-now lips, but Berry’s super short skirt.  He forces himself to remember what it’s like, lying on top of Berry, kissing her.  How her lips are super soft.  How she makes little moans when he kisses her, as though she can’t shut up even when she has a fellow hot Jew’s tongue down her throat.

And boobs.  Rachel has boobs.

He’s stroking himself now, desperately trying to finish before he really is late to practice.  He pulls his phone out of his pocket (because watches are for douches) and speeds up when he sees the time. 

Apparently, checking the time on his phone might have been a mistake because he’s not technically thinking about Rachel anymore, and, yeah, maybe all he can hear is “Please please me, whoa yeah, like I please you,” and he wonders if Sam’s guitar-calloused fingers would feel remotely like his do, or if they’re just different enough to make it totally awesome, and he’s picturing Sam licking those motherfucking goddamn lips of his, and - _Oh, fuck me_.  That thought, that _one_?  It’s what has him coming, hard, into his hand. 

He sort of lets his body go boneless for a second before he reaches for some toilet paper.  He curses when there’s not any and awkwardly pulls his pants back up one-handed.  He opens the stall door and finds out he hadn’t been alone.  Finn’s staring at him, mouth open and face a little bit red.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?  Did you, like, follow me?  God.”  Puck just catches himself before he runs his come-covered hand over his ‘hawk. 

Finn’s mouth does that fish opening and closing thing for a few seconds before he finally finds his voice.  “Dude, were you just-just - ”

“No.”  Puck’s scoffs are badass. 

“But, I heard you!  You were totally, you know…”

“Fine.”  He stalks to the sink and turns it on.  “You caught me.  Berry’s skirt was riding up.  It was hot.”  He dries his hands off and starts toward the door, fixing his pants and belt buckle as he goes.  “Let’s go, dude.  Beiste will give us laps.”  He pushes the door open and totally doesn’t acknowledge Finn’s quiet words.

“But she’s wearing a pants suit today.”

~~X~~

The Second Time—The hallway

Puck badasses his way down the hall during class change, occasionally flexing his guns, you know, for the ladies.  He stops walking for a second, ladies totally forgotten, when he sees Jacob Ben Israel interviewing Sam.  Ben Israel isn’t exactly _quiet_ so Puck hears him asking Sam about the recent dissolution of the Samcedes fiasco (it’s a fiasco because, well, Puck’s not going to acknowledge why he thinks it’s a disaster). 

“No, it wasn’t like that at all.  We just decided, you know,” and Puck doesn’t hear the rest of what-the-fuck-ever Sam’s about to say because Sam licks his motherfucking goddamn lips, smiles his aw-shucks-I’m-from-Tennessee smile, and laughs as he brushes his stupidly long-ass hair out of his face.  And, God, it’s just a fucking _smile_ and Puck’s…

Well, shit.

 _Santana_. 

Yeah.  Santana was talking about her date and how she and… Well, fuck, it doesn’t matter what she and her date did because chicks having sex is hot to think about and that’s what Puck’s doing right now.  He’s thinking about chicks having sex, and if you think otherwise, well, fuck you. 

He’s going to have to go to the bathroom now and -

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“Puck, I’m so sorry.” Artie turns around in his wheelchair to give Puck a horrified look.  “I totally didn’t see you there.”  Apparently, Puck had started walking again.  He’s not really sure when or even why he had, and he’s either walked into Artie’s wheelchair or Artie opened his locker (with his superhuman upper body strength) and now Puck’s balls feel like they’ve fled to Mecca somewhere in his stomach.  But it’s not like he was distracted by Sam’s motherfucking goddamn lips or anything like that.  It was Santana, damn it, and her hot lesbian…

Fuck it.

It honestly doesn’t matter if he chooses to convince himself that he was hard because of sweet chick-on-chick action or Sam’s motherfucking goddamn lips because his balls fucking hurt and he may need to go to the nurse’s office for, like, a week.

“Thanks, man.  I’ll catch you in glee.”  He’s totally sincere about his gratitude too.  He pats Artie on the shoulder and limps to the nurse’s office, one hand still protecting/consoling his junk.

“Hey, why’d you thank me?”

Puck ignores Artie.

~~X~~

The Third Time—Friday’s game

Puck might have been fine, pretending that Sam and his motherfucking goddamn lips just don’t fucking exist, but Finn had to go and fuck all that shit up.

“Finn, dude, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Eight?”

“Shit.”  He waves for Coach Beiste to bring the stretcher, because, seriously, not even Finn is that dumb.  “He’s got, like, a head injury.  He’s seeing double.”

“Alright, we’ll take care of him.  Go on, Puckerman, and join the huddle.”

Puck nods to the Beiste and turns around.  He’s readjusting his helmet when he sees “Evans” on the back of Sam’s jersey.  That’s when Puck realizes that he’s fucking fucked.  _Get a grip, Puckerman._ He shoves Azimio out of the way and takes his spot next to Sam.  “Okay, Evans,” he growls (yes, growls, because there was no fucking squeaking from El Puckerone) out, “what’ve you got?”

Sam meets his eyes, licks his motherfucking goddamn lips, and Puck fucking forgets to pay any kind of attention.  Sam’s talking and his motherfucking goddamn lips are red, and he keeps fucking licking them, and, Jesus, somebody give this kid some fucking chapstick so he’ll stop fucking licking his motherfucking goddamn lips and…  Someone (Sam) slaps him in the back of the head.  “Ow!  What the fuck, man?”

Sam glares at him.  “Dude, pay attention.”

“I was.  _You_ pay attention.”  That in no way was a weak-ass comeback.  It just wasn’t. 

“Whatever.  Just run the play again.”

Puck doesn’t really remember if he does that whole “Go team!” shit or not when the huddle breaks up because Sam’s put his mouthguard in his mouth and it makes his motherfucking goddamn lips look fucking HUGER (yes, HUGER) and Puck thinks that while it’s great that his cup protects the Puckzilla from some serious damage when he’s being tackled, it does fuck-all for his quickly-growing-hard dick, especially because Puck’s thinking about how Sam’s motherfucking goddamn lips would look wrapped around…

Shit.

It’s the excitement of the game.  The rush gets him hard, just like every other game he’s ever played.  Yeah, that’s it.  Adrenaline.

And, well, if he’s still hard and aching after they’ve lost the game (which is in no way because he blew every single fucking play after that), it’s because Brittany wasn’t wearing her bra under her Cheerios uniform again.

She joined the squad again, right?

~~X~~

The Fourth Time—Spanish class

Puck vaguely remembers Sam talking about having his schedule changed so that he can be in the advanced weight training class, so he really shouldn’t be surprised when he walks into Spanish class and he’s sitting next to Tina. 

 _Well, shit_.

He sits down in the desk behind Tina, in his assigned seat, thank you; he totally wasn’t trying to sit near Sam or anything, even if this _is_ the first time he’s sat in his seat all year, but that’s really none of your fucking business.  Sam and Tina are still talking to each other while they do their bell work, something Puck refuses to do on principle.  Tina’s laughing softly and she pulls out a tube of chapstick.  When she’s finished and about to put the cap back on, Sam asks—because he _has_ to take care of those chapped fuckers now, in Spanish class, in front of Puck, “Can I use some of that?  My [motherfucking goddamn] lips are really chapped.”

And fucked if she doesn’t just _hand_ that shit over and Puck’s eyes go wide as Sam swipes the stuff all over his motherfucking goddamn lips.  He doesn’t even _pretend_ that it’s Tina’s lips turning him on now, because that ship has fucking sailed.

Puck reaches for his jacket to lay across his lap and briefly wonders how you say “Fuck my life” in Spanish.

~~X~~

The Fifth Time—The lunchroom (also, wherein the author stops using the phrase "motherfucking goddamn lips")

Puck sits down at his usual table and automatically looks across the room to where Sam usually sits.

“Now that’s just not fucking fair.”

He slams his head on the table, narrowly missing his bowl of Spaghetti Surprise.

Someone should outlaw Blow Pops.

~~X~~

The One Time—Mike Chang’s house

By now, Puck’s just given up on any misconceived notion that he’s straight, because, seriously, he’s jerked off to thoughts of what he’d like to do with Sam’s lips (and his mouth, and his cock, and his ass, and maybe what he wants Sam to do to him and all of _his_ body parts) so many times that he’s been avoiding Hummel in case the kid can, like, smell the gay on him, or something.

He’s also been avoiding Sam because he’s pretty sure that getting wood every time he’s around him might clue him in on the fact that something was definitely up with Puck.

He still looks at those lips, though, way too often.  Sam’s caught him a couple of times… and he just fucking smiles every single time.  Puck’s used the “I gotta go take a dump, Mr. Schue” excuse so many times that Schuester actually called Puck’s fucking mom and said he was worried about dysentery.  Puck said he’d just been eating a lot of fiber, praying that that was the stuff that makes you poop a lot.  She bought it and told him that he might be going overboard.

Puck takes a long pull from his can of Coke and grimaces.  Yeah, it might be totally weak that the hardest thing they’re drinking is fucking Coke Classic, but, hey, they promised Mr. Schue that they’d be good little boys and girls.  Whatever, though.  Most of the glee kids were just as funny hopped up on sugar and caffeine as they were loaded on alcohol.  Puck still kinda wished he had a little Jack Daniel’s to go with his coke, though.

Sam plops down beside him on the couch and Puck just about chokes on his fucking Coke.  He coughs a lot, and Sam hits him on the back.  Puck holds his hand up to get him to stop.  “I’m cool.  I’m cool.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, man, I’m good.”

“ ‘Kay.”

They both go quiet then.  And, though Puck’s face feels really fucking hot, he leans back on the couch in a pose that screams both “I’m a badass so jump on this” and “You cretins are just fucking lucky I’m gracing you with my badassness (Badassery?  Whatever, fuck off, I’m awesome.).”  And although he’s not, you know, looking directly at him, Puck side-eye watches Sam watching Mike and Matt Rutherford’s dance-off.  Then, Sam leans back and Puck covers his awkward snapping of his eyes forward with another sip of Coke, totally forgetting that he had finished it off already.

“So, who’s this Matt kid?”

Puck looks at Sam, then LIPS, and he jerks his head back to look at Mike and Matt again.  “What?”  He doesn’t know why he says that, except maybe he forgot what the question was for, like, a second because of the, you know, LIPS.

“I asked about Matt.”  Sam says it louder this time, as though Puck couldn’t hear over the music and not because Puck’s acting like a total girl.  “Who is he?”

“Oh, he, uh, he used to go to McKinley.  He was in glee.  They like to dance.”  Puck should put his empty can down (AND STOP TALKING), but he keeps fiddling with the tab, not because he’s nervous though.

“They’re really good.”

“Yeah.  Good.”  Puck’s a little grateful that Sam’s not looked at him since beating him on the back when he was choking, because it means he can look at Sam a little bit.  He’s totally not paying attention to Mike and Matt, though, and he’s sort of so zoned out that he’s not actually paying attention to what Sam’s saying to him.  So, when Sam turns to him and says, “Puck?  Did you hear me?”  Puck jerks his head forward again, as though he had been watching the M&M not-in-anyway-gay-for-each-other Show the whole time, and says, “What?”  And, God, he sounds so stupid, saying “what” over and over again, but he still can’t fucking stop it.

“God, man, are you deaf?”  Sam leans closer to him, pulling down on Puck’s shoulder.  And that, my friends, is when Puck loses his shit, because motherfucking, goddamn, those lips, those LIPS touch his fucking ear and there’s a fire shooting from the contact point straight to his cock.  He must moan, then, because Sam doesn’t shout into his ear whatever it was he was going to shout.  Instead, he just fucking _stays_ there with his lips touching Puck’s ears and his breath all hot and –

_Oh, God, no._

Puck jumps up from the couch, empty Coke can fucking dropped and out of mind, and sprints to the bathroom upstairs, away from everyone (Sam).

 

He’s breathing heavily as he shuts the door and slides to the floor.  His pants?  Yeah, totally soaked because Puck busted his nut like his last name is Hudson.  He bangs his head on the door a couple of times as he formulates an escape plan, because this shit just got real.

“Puck?”

Puck’s eyes are open and he’s up off the floor and across the bathroom because he fucking forgot that there are two goddamn doors to this bathroom and, yeah, it’s too late because Sam’s already got the door open.

“Dude, get the fuck out of here.”  Puck’s all up in Sam’s personal space, desperately hoping that Sam won’t look down.

“Puck, just let me - ”

“No.  You get the fuck out of here.  Now.”  Puck turns around and pretty much shoves his crotch into the counter, concealing the damning evidence that he’s now the biggest fucking vagina in Lima.  He closes his eyes and just wills Sam to go the fuck away, even if there’s no way he can recover a shred of his dignity.  Apparently, Sam’s Lima’s biggest fucking _douche_ because he steps closer to him instead of leaving.  “Dude, please.”  God, he’s pathetic.  “Just go.”

Sam exhales, his breath tickling Puck’s neck.  “Is that really what you want me to do?”

“Yes.”

“Noah.”  And that’s all he says.  But, it’s low, and it’s sexy how his name sounds, and Puck opens his eyes to meet Sam’s in the mirror.  Sam wraps his arms around Puck’s arms then, and puts his chin on Puck’s shoulder.  Puck’s breathing quickens.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  Then, as though he’d done it a thousand and one times, he turns his head and kisses the side of Puck’s neck. 

Puck’s knees sort of go weak then, and he braces himself on the counter, exhaling, “Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m a little bit gay, dude.”

Sam chuckles and meets his gaze in the mirror again.  “I think so, too.”

“Yeah.”  Puck just looks at him for a little bit, kinda loving the way Sam looks with his arms wrapped around him.  “I want… God…”

“Yeah?”

He turns around in Sam’s arms.  “I want,” he leans in and Sam’s closing his eyes, “this.”  And then, his lips are touching _those_ lips, _Sam’s_ LIPS, and Puck can feel every cliché known to man go through his mind.  Sam completes him.  His whole life has been building up to this moment.  He’d never been really kissed before.  Yep, he even heard that fucking Hallelujah chorus.  Because kissing Sam?  Yeah, it might have been every single clichéd thing he’d heard chicks talk about, and Puck would have popped his knee (shut up, his sister likes that _Princess Diaries_ shit) if that wasn’t just totally gay, but kissing Sam was amazing. 

And just at that moment, he likes Sam’s stupid long hair because it means he can run his fingers through it and tug it a little bit and cause Sam to moan into his mouth, and THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, Tina Cohen-Chang for letting Sam use that fucking chapstick every single day for the past week because his lips are not chapped anymore and they’re actually just a little bit perfect. 

Puck almost doesn’t want the kiss to fucking end, ever, but he’s starting to feel a little gross, because of the, you know, jizz in his jeans.  He shifts uncomfortably and Sam pulls away from Puck and just stares into his eyes, and if he ever tells anyone that Puck likes just looking in his eyes like they were made for just looking in _Puck’s_ eyes, he’ll have Sam’s balls (and not in the good way) and whomever he tells, but he does love just looking into Sam’s eyes.  It’s now his favorite activity.

At least, it’s his favorite activity for the next fifteen minutes, because that’s how long it takes for them to sneak the fuck out of Mike’s house, out to Puck’s Jeep, into Puck’s house, and up to Puck’s room where they sort of rip out of their clothes and forget to be quiet when they fucking fall on Puck’s bed and there's this tense moment where Puck's mom asks if he's home and Puck fake sleep-mumbles something and she's totally fooled and goes back to bed.  Then, yeah, then?  That’s when they discover Puck’s favorite activity _ever_ , because it involves Sam’s lips and Puck’s cock, and dear God, he hopes he lasts longer this time (he’s still a badass and has his rep, after all).

~~X~~

When they’re done (and, yes, Puck does last longer the second time) and Puck’s found out just how awesome it is to have those lips wrapped around his cock, Puck tastes himself in Sam’s mouth and Sam tastes himself in Puck’s mouth and things are just so beyond… amazing (and he’d look up a synonym, or whatever, for “amazing,” but he’s a little bit busy, what with the fucking fucking and all).  Puck keeps thinking _lips, lips, LIPS_ when Sam stops kissing him.  He just fucking stops.

“Dude – ”

“Shut up.  I have to tell you something.”  And this is the part where Puck thinks that Sam is going to tell him that this has all been one big fucking joke and he’s starting to panic a little bit, so he doesn’t answer Sam and instead just looks at him, all scared and shit (except that he’s still a badass and will end Sam if he needs to) and waits for Sam to destroy his - “I hate Blow Pops.”

 _What the fu…_ “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’  You’re fucking slow, dude.  Like, Finn slow.  And, for the record, totally unsubtle.”

Later, when Puck can think again, he’ll totally beat Sam’s ass.  But now, right now, he just kisses those motherfucking goddamn lips again and thanks God and all those other religious figures that he and Sam are eighteen and can get it up again in, like, fucking five minutes.

~~X~~

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to The Beatles, Lauren Zizes, and anyone who may have a headache from reading the long-winded—and pretty much ungrammatical/incomprehensible—ramblings of a teen-aged boy. This was my first serious (?) attempt at Glee fic. Yes, I sort of cheated about the whole “Puck denies it” thing, but, as Puck himself would say, I’m a badass, so fuck off. I meant for there to be some sexin’, but then Puck had to be all sensitive and shit and I couldn’t have their first time be in Mike fucking Chang’s bathroom.


End file.
